A Game of Trust
by AtinBralor
Summary: Set at the outbreak of the Yuuzhan Vong war. Boba Fett's hard line in individual care is tested by an unexpected obstacle. Boba Fett/OC Rated Mature to give wiggle room at later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A quick in and out…it was meant to be a quick in and out, nothing to it. Hand over the intel and leave.

Dinua pressed her back against the rock, blaster held up against her shoulder as she surveyed the crumbling and burning buildings. The noise of the now more distant fighting drifted after her, far enough away to allow her a moment to gather her thoughts. She knew that Beviin and Carid had made their way safely back to the ship and were waiting for them. She drew her blaster as running footsteps pounded and echoed between the buildings towards her, lowering it again as she recognised the figure of Boba Fett sprinting towards her, his own blaster held safely pointing up as he ran. "You took your time…"

Fett ignored her. _She got away with more than most did. His respect for her calm and calculated combat at the tender age of fourteen, and his close working relationship with her adopted father had put them in a position of trust that rarely occurred in his line of work. He didn't get where he was by trusting people without good reason_. He led the way on through the damaged buildings towards the ships, hardly breaking pace. As they made a right turn past a small gap in the structures, he felt her hand grab his arm and drag him to an abrupt halt.

"Look."

He jerked his arm free, pivoting on his heels, instantly alert to the assumed danger. He lowered his EE-3 slightly as he realised what she had seen.

A woman was crouched in the debris of a destroyed ship, clutching a body in her arms. She was oblivious to them, completely enthralled in her grief.

Dinua glanced at him, her guard completely relaxed, frustrating him as he knew she was better than that. "We have to help her."

Fett shook his head, turning to walk away. He had work enough without adding a waif to the list. She could be trouble for all they knew. The grief could be a façade; a trap for them to walk straight in to. He got a few metres away before he realised that Dinua had started in the opposite direction, approaching the woman. _Fierfek._ He levelled his blaster, approaching behind her, keeping the woman within his sights the entire time, stepping between Dinua and the threat. "On your feet."

His emotionless voice, made harsher by the microphone in his helmet, made the woman look up in fear. She appeared not to hear him, just scrabbling back a few metres, dragging the body with her.

Dinua felt her stomach twist, the bitter familiarity of the situation hitting her more than she had expected. The woman was cradling a girl around her own age. Not a mandalorian; no warrior…just a little girl. Suddenly she was back in the alley a year previously; Beviin and Boba trying to save her own mortally wounded mother, the first of their losses to the Yuuzhan Vong War.

Fett grabbed the woman by the arm and jerked her to her feet, forcing her to take a few steps away, holding his blaster's steady aim at her to prevent her returning to the body. "Move it." His attention flickered briefly towards Dinua, aware that she had slipped into her own thoughts. _Something that needs to be trained out of her. _"Dinua, come on." He didn't know why he was doing this, but he felt that it was quicker to get the woman onto Slave 1 and deal with her there, rather than argue with the young Mandalorian. _Sometimes you did things in youth that weren't wise. For most that could be the difference between life and death, but he felt a sense of duty to ensure that she lived long enough to lose her naïve care. Thinking of others wasn't all it was cracked up to be. You needed to think of your own skin first, and then that of your comrades. This was something her mother would have instilled in her throughout her early years as a bounty hunter, but sadly she had only lived to see the first few days of her daughter's career._

They continued through the buildings, Fett struggling to keep the women moving. She feared them both, even Dinua. _She was right to fear him. Everyone did._ A shot rang out from the dust around them, skimming the back of his forearm and loosen his grip on their unwilling guest. Dinua immediately drew her weapon, scanning around them but finding herself unable to see much through the disturbed sand. She grabbed the women's arm and yanked her back to her feet, glancing to ensure he was ready to move. "Run? We can't fire at an enemy we can't see."

Fett nodded, gripping the other arm and picking up the speed to a slow run; as fast as they could dare force the person to move at. "100 metres to go…don't stop, go straight to the Gladiator. I'll take her." He knew she was about to open her mouth to argue. "Do as I tell you." His patience for her naivety had ended with the burning shot across his arm and his voice made it plain that there would be no discussion.

Slave 1's ramp lowered as he started to run through his arsenal of security codes using the comm link in his helmet. _He sometimes amazed himself that he could work through his blink operated control system and continue to fight his way out of a situation, merchandise, or in this case undesired guest, in tow. It was good to know that age wasn't catching up with him; he was still as sharp in mind and body as 40 years ago. It paid to take care of yourself._

He shoved her up and into the cargo hold, feeling the ramp slam shut behind them, sealing in the comparative safety of his nest. In a smooth movement he locked her into one of his holding cells. "Brace yourself, she doesn't use full dampers when she jumps." _He didn't know why he felt the compulsion to warn her of the impending move. Normally he just let people find out when they were slammed back against the cage wall. _He holstered his weapon and rapidly ascended the ladder into the cockpit area. He began to wake up the drives and type in coordinates, watching the Gladiator already begin to rise in his viewport. With an effort he shrugged off the heavy jet pack and replaced it against the back wall where it wouldn't be damaged in the jump.

With this removed he could settle into the pilots chair and begin in earnest to get them up and away. It didn't take him long; every inch of the console was ingrained in his memory and the actions were almost habit. He never let them become habit though. He always let his mind think for itself. The jump slammed him back against the chair, but he preferred it that way. Slave 1 was stripped of any unnecessary extras and in their place he had made her a flying armoury and home. _She was almost as famed and feared as he was. In his hands, she was a lethal weapon_.

He had heard his passengers squeal of fear as they made the jump. His warning had obviously done little to prepare her. She was pressed up against the back wall of the cell when he returned to the hold, having set Slave 1 on auto to follow the plotted route.

The space was small, designed for pure functionality. The hold was immaculately clean, maintained perfectly to be ready for whatever he required. He unlocked the cage door and pulled it open, motioning her forward. "I want to check you for weapons." He ran his hands methodically over her flight suit, extracting a small knife from her pocket and tucking it into his own belt. There was nothing in his touch that threatened her; just a man ensuring his own safety. Once he _was_ sure she was unarmed he moved back, letting her step into the small open area of the hold.

He watched her perch on a durasteel bench, looking completely bewildered, her dark hair stuck to her tear-stained face as she took in her surroundings and captor.

"You're Boba Fett."

_Observant._ "Yes, I am." He turned to an inbuilt cupboard and pulled out a bottle of liquid bacta. He held it out to her. "Hold this."

She took it cautiously, watching him removing the armaments and left gauntlet to roll back his damaged flight suit sleeve. "I'm Malikka." She looked pale and shaken, more tears welling in her eyes. "We…I'm a bounty hunter too…a bad one. I was just trying to put food on the table…" She winced as he took the bottle back and poured a generous measure on the scorched wound on the back of his arm, as if feeling his pain herself even though he hadn't shown a flicker of discomfort.

He watched more colour drain from her already pale expression and reached into the cupboard to hand her something resembling a ration bar. "Eat this. It'll settle your stomach." He stood still as she stared at the object in her hands, wonder if it was safe to eat. "I'm not trying to poison you, okay."

_He observed her and found himself wondering what he had done, and what he was going to do with her now that he had an unexpected guest._


	2. Chapter 2

**A Game of Trust**

Glossary

Aruetiise – outsider/ 'not one of us'.

Beskad – Mandalorian beskar saber

ba'slan shev'la – strategic disappearance – the mandalorian skill of scattering and regrouping somewhere safe.

Haar'chack – Damn it

Mand'alor – leader of Mandalore.

Shab – a curse

Chapter 2

The change in atmosphere descended like a heavy cloud. It was always hard to tell the thoughts going on behind the Vong's living exterior but the heavy settling feeling told Fett that something wasn't right. The taller warrior's attention seemed to be diverted and he could only assume that he was intending to send some message back to its kin.

With cold determination, Fett drew the heavy _beskad_ from his belt and swung it at the joint in the armour, swiping the villip to destroy the living communicative devise. He knew that he would have little time to react and brought the saber back round just in time to deflect the sharp claws that had moved in anger for him.

He wasn't use to this style of combat but the beskad was the best method of cracking through the shell that they had found so far. He didn't have the pure muscle that Beviin utilised and he found the sweat breaking out on his skin already. To the initiate, the blade was extremely heavy and cumbersome, and he hadn't had time to build the muscle mass to swing it with ease; he was used to using his armoury of gadgets to sneak and attack without getting into hand to hand combat.

_Now…_

He saw his moment and took it, plunging the saber into the smallest of cracks between the crablike plates, catching them before they could move and close the gap. The momentum of his thrust sent them both tumbling to the ground and he struggled to get on to his knees; gripping the hilt with both hands, putting his entire body weight behind the _beskad_ to pierce into the body. The armour finally yielded under his pressure and the blade plunged through into the Vong. The warrior flailed under him, a terrible sound escaping the body. One arm was pinned down under his knee but the creatures right arm had been out of his reach when he'd pinned him to the ground and now it rushed up and crashed into him, embedding two curved, claw like spurs into his exposed thigh and sending him crashing onto his back.

It took him a few seconds to regain enough composure to move. _The pain burned through him like a fire. Help…he needed help. This was chemical biochemical warfare._ The spurs had detached from the dying armour, staying embedded in the muscle of his thigh; one of the few areas that wasn't protected, although he had seen the Vong weaponry pierce durasteel armour. _It was a pain beyond anything he had felt in a long time._

He struggled to his feet, knowing he needed to move in case the message had got out to other Vongese warriors. He twisted and yanked the _beskad_ to remove it from the body, knowing that the Mandalorian weapon would be a dead giveaway if he left it behind then began stumbling through the dense forest towards the clearing where he had landed Slave 1. The muscles screamed in agony and the limb threatened to give way underneath him. The heavy bleeding was running down his leg with worrying speed. _Important arteries in the thigh; high risk of bleeding to death, need to get help, need to complete take off first. _As the access ramp lowered he opened his commlink with the Gladiator waiting off planet. "Beviin, I need you to draw back and distract any Vong ships then meet at the rendezvous point quickly. Dock with Slave 1. I need help." He shut the link before he got a reply. _There was no time to discuss anything. _

His steps rang loudly on the in the hollow void of the hold as he made his way hurriedly to the cell that he had locked Malikka in. He shoved the key through the reader and unlocked the door, shaking his head as she opened her mouth, eyes wide. "Don't say a word; just get up into the cockpit. I need your help."

She darted ahead of him, clattering loudly up the ladder and into the area of the ship that she had never been allowed to set foot in; his domain. She couldn't help but stare at the banks of the control console as she waited for him to struggle up after her.

"Get in…co-pilot…" He collapsed into his own chair, breathing heavily as he began to start up the drives, feeling his mind beginning to haze. _He couldn't do this alone. He couldn't concentrate. _"Do as I tell you. You need to get her into hyperspace…" He keyed in the coordinates for the jump to the rendezvous, letting the muscle memory do the work for him then turned to her. "Hit her into hyperspace, same as any other ship then bring her back to sub-light drives so they can find us. It's our strategic escape plan; Beviin knows the rendezvous point. We need to get off planet and out of immediate range then wait..." He could see her hesitating. "Do it!" he growled, unable to keep the pain from his voice.

He closed his eyes, focusing on a far off image of calm as Slave 1made the leap, slamming them both back with the raw g-force. The pain made him retch, his vision going black for a few seconds until the pressure eased and he felt her hands on his arm pulling him back to reality.

With a quick scan of the screen he checked that they were in the correct location then set up her cloaking device, leaving the only channel open to the Gladiator, invisible to everyone else. He descended the steps back into the hold, collapsing immediately against the bulkhead, unable to stay on his feet any longer.

Malikka fell to her knees at his side, her hands hovering over him, wanting to help but completely unaware of what to do.

"…armour…" _Need everything off. Need to slow the bleeding or I'll be a dead man. _

She found the clips for the flak vest and removed it with all plates still attached; unacquainted with the finer points of his Mandalorian armour. There was a rip in the fabric up on side were the claws had scratched down his torso before embedding in his thigh. She set it all in a pile, pushing it away from them and looking down on him for the first time with just the flight suit. She didn't continue, although her hands went towards his remaining clothing before backing away several times over.

_Fierfek, she's going to have to take it off, isn't she. _He reached up and pulled his helmet off, letting it fall to the ground at his side, resting his head back against the cold steel; a comfortable contrast against his overheated skin while he fought for control of the situation. He tried to unzip the suit but his hands were now shaking too much. _I'm going to have to go from faceless armour to nothing for her. I need to trust her now._

She was shocked by what she saw. He looked younger than what she had imagined his skin pale and unlined except for the scars which marked out his career. His hair was still dark, almost black and his eyes a warm, but empty hazel. She knew that he deemed the helmet to be his face, so to see beyond it was a privilege…but it also meant it must be bad if he had chosen to take it off.

He made eye contact with her, sweat glistening on his skin. "Get bacta…and compression bandages." With a weak nod, he indicated the recessed cupboard. _Should have extended the med kit for situations like this…_

When she returned with her arms full, he had gathered his remaining consciousness to take control of the situation. "Unzip the suit. Cut it away from around the wounds." _The fire still burned at the injury site, oozing from the points of contact; a blinding pain above the continual discomfort._ "They need to come out. It's a living weapon and it's leaching something."

_Rule 1 of penetrating injuries; leave the foreign body in place to prevent haemorrhaging._

She looked horrified, the blood draining from her face. "I can't, Boba, I can't pull them out…you shouldn't remove anything like that anyway. Not until we have proper medical aid…" The tears began to well in her eyes. _This was why she had failed her own daughter; her inability to cope. He was so calm and she was going to pieces. She suddenly felt a terrible attachment to the man who had kept her as effectively a well-treated prisoner on his ship._ Her hands fumbled as she used her knife to cut through the tough material so that his injuries were exposed from throat right down to his knee. The wound on his side quite deep and bleeding freely, but right now it was of no concern if they couldn't deal with the penetrating injuries. "Boba…"

"It's okay…I know you can't. Just do as I say." _It's what he always seemed to be saying. _With a deep, steadying breath, he slowly retracted the first spur from his thigh, struggling not to cry out in pain. With just a moment to catch his breath, he repeated the move, unable this time to prevent the groans that forced from his mouth; this time his hands were shaking violently and the movement was far from smooth. He dropped them both on the deck and pushed them away, now panting heavily.

The blood started to flow much faster now that the obstructions were removed, pooling on the deck under his leg. The effect was instantaneous and he knew she needed to slow the bleeding or he'd be unconscious in minutes. "Lots of bacta, pour it over then wrap as tightly as you can." _His pulse hammered in his throat, making him feel sick._

Her hands were shaking just as much as his as she unscrewed the cap of the liquid bacta, hesitating briefly before up ending it and letting it all flow into and over the deep wounds. His yell of pain echoed in the hold and she felt his hand clench on the loose material of her own flight suit. She began to sob, pulling out the bandaging and doing as he'd asked. She pulled the wraps tightly around his thigh, making sure that it was tight enough to hold the pads of gauze to the open wounds. The white bandaging maintained its colour for only a few seconds before the deep red blood began to soak through, but at least it had slowed the bleeding somewhat. She leapt to her feet and rushed back to the cupboard, sifting through the limited medical supplies. "You're in a dangerous line of work…why doesn't your medical pack match the completeness of your armoury." She pulled out an unopened bottle of bacta…the only one remaining….and a sharps pack.

Fett opened his eyes and fixed her with a steady gaze. "I never intend to get injured beyond the expected collateral damage." He watched her fiddling with the needle and syringe from the sharps pack. "What are you doing?"

Malikka settled back down at his left hand side and took his arm, turning it palm up to rest in her lap. "I'm trying to make something that will stand in as a transfusion method. Bacta will keep your blood pressure up but you don't have any means to easily make one in your kit. She tore a strip of material from his flight suit and tied it around his upper arm as a form of tourniquet. Managing to steady her hands just enough to slip the needle into the vein, she tore away the tourniquet and fumbled with her awkward attempts at creating an input into the vein, the slow drip of blood running down her fingers as she failed and retracted the needle, keeping her finger pressed to the wound. "It's not possible. It'll just spill all over the floor…none will go in your vein. Why don't you have a hypospray…" She felt his fingers closing gently on her arm, easing her rising panic.

"Keep me awake," he mumbled, his eyes feeling heavy. "Beviin will dock as soon as he can but I need you to make sure I don't slip out until he does." He could feel nothing but the darkness rising thickly from the oblivion of pain. It still felt as if the barbs were embedded in him and he was sure they had exuded some sort of toxic substance within him. "The Gladiator will have blood…"

She shifted to sit more comfortably, taking his gripping hand in her own; stroking his long fingers in what she hoped was a soothing manner. She wondered if anyone had ever held his hand like this, skin to skin. Despite now having an open opportunity to ask whatever she wanted, she couldn't think of what to say. She settled on the simple question that had been bugging her. "Ehm…how old are you?" The look that she received let her know that this wasn't the question he had expected.

"56, why? Do I look that bad?" _Years of trade as a mercenary have made their mark and the sarlacc incident rendered some pretty unique injuries._

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "I thought around that, but you don't look your age at all. I thought I was maybe wrong. You must take care of yourself." She let out a sobbed chuckle. "Or not…"

"You?" He was giving her that look. It was a calculating stare, as if he were trying to read her mind.

"38…" murmured Malikka, her ears straining for the sound of the Gladiator approaching. _What was taking them so long?_ "Do you have family?"

This seemed to stun Fett into silence and she felt his blanket of obstinate silence begin to descend. She didn't expect him to answer and was preparing a new question when he began to speak. "I'm a clone, the only unaltered clone of my father, Jango. He was killed by a Jedi when I was 13. I had a wife and a daughter, but we split only a few years after Ailyn was born. The last time I saw Ailyn, she was trying to kill me. I don't know about Sintas. She never returned from a bounty when Ailyn was 16. The body was never found and Ailyn came after me." He could feel her stunned gaze. "I didn't kill her…I've not laid eyes on her since I left." His breathing was heavier now, more laboured and shallow. "I can't keep talking…" He looked sad; as if the digging up of old memories had pained him as much as the wounds.

Malikka didn't know what to say. He had said so much while saying very little. He had shared with her what seemed to be painful glimpses of his life and she wanted to ask him so many more questions, but she could see that he had exhausted himself now. His eyes were half closed and unfocussed; staring directly through her. She didn't know if he was losing consciousness or just dealing with the pain. "Boba?" She felt him squeeze slightly on her hand, taking that as a signal to continue. "I…"

The crackling of the comm system in his discarded helmet caught her attention and then Beviin's usually jovial voice filtered into the hold. "We've checked for Vong, _Mand'alor_, we're coming back for you now. We'll dock with Slave 1."

With a click, the comm shut off and the silence descended again. She felt his hand lose its grip on hers and fall into her lap; Fett had drifted into unconsciousness. With a panicked jerk she leant forward and shook his shoulders, feeling the clang above her as Gladiator docked against the body of Slave 1. She couldn't rouse him; even the clattering and scraping noises of Beviin and Dinua appearing in the hold made little impact on him.

"Get your hands off him, _aruetiise_." Dinua had drawn her blaster and aimed it straight at Malikka. Her aim was unfaltering and her glare completely penetrating.

The accusation and the unknown language stunned Malikka so much that she didn't move. She saw Beviin leap on Dinua as a flash of blinding light erupted and she felt the bolt across her shoulders, skimming from left to right. She was sobbing now, leaning on her hands and knees in an attempt to ease the pain. It was just a flesh wound, but the bolt had ripped the back of her flight suit and penetrated deep enough to make it feel as if the skin had been stripped from her back; to a certain extent, that was true. She couldn't feel much blood, so at least the wound had burned and not cut deep. She could hear the shouted argument behind her between Beviin and his adopted daughter, but the language was, again, beyond her comprehension. Much to her relief, Dinua retreated back to the Gladiator and Beviin rushed over to join them.

He squatted down beside her, giving her a quick glance. "_Shab_, Bob'ika, what did you get into?" He fiddled with the bandaging, attempting to pull it tighter but found it was doing the best it could against the flow of blood. "_Haar'chack_. Let's get up to the cockpit and get ready to move. We're like sitting ducks out here. It's time for a little '_ba'slan shev'la_'. Can you get up that ladder yourself or do you need slung over my shoulder?" His humour was still present, even in the current situation. He watched her roll her shoulders slowly to test the movement. "You go up in front of me. I'll give you a shove if you need it. Y'needn't worry, there's not enough of you to get a decent grip on." He gave her a wink and then gently scooped Fett up in his arms, getting a decent grip with his right arm so as to leave his left free to hold the ladder. "It's just as well our _Mand'alor_ isn't built like Med'ika or it would be a struggle to get up that ladder."

Malikka had opened her mouth to protest at the nature of his jokes but the mention of Medrit reminded her that he really was joking with her and she smiled for the first time in ages. She cautiously began her ascent, trying to avoid pulling herself up too much with her arms as it stretched and pulled at the wound across her shoulders. As she reached the top, she was glad of his steadying hand pushing her the final scramble onto the cockpit floor. She turned and looked back down at him as he rearranged his grip, having had to grip both Fett and the ladder with his right hand to help her. She reached out as he got to the top, pulling the unconscious bounty hunter from his arms and safely onto the deck away from the edge.

Beviin hauled himself into the cockpit, his blue armour now covered in blood. "Dinua's gone to get more supplies from the Gladiator. Let's get him away from the controls so we can work." He took out a knife from his belt and cut away the blood soaked remains of the flight suit then plucked him from the floor and led Malikka away from the control deck to a small area off the cockpit which seemed to serve as humble living quarters. He laid the older man onto the bunk and stepped away as the clattering on the ladder signalled Dinua's return. "Dinua, put it all down and get back to the Gladiator and undock. I need to hyperspace jump to get him to Mandalore quickly. You need to pilot the gladiator back and meet us there when you can." He saw her open her mouth to argue but held his hands up for silence. "I know you could join the jump as a slave to Slave 1 but we don't have time to do that, okay. You'll manage fine. Just keep a low profile and come straight home. Nobody will be interested in a lone Gladiator." He gave her an abrupt hug. "Go on, we'll see you soon." He watched her lay down her armful of medical supplies and disappear, before settling cautiously into the pilot seat, waiting to see the Gladiator dislodge and pull away. "Get some blood running in quickly before we jump, hurry."

Malikka grabbed the transfusion kit and scrambled over towards the bunk, repeating her tourniquet procedure and slipping the needle into the vein. She gave an audible sigh of relief as the transfusion began to flow in but it quickly became a shriek of panic as the jump to hyperspace catapulted her forward against the unconscious body. She'd forgotten to warn him about the jump; she'd heard his shocked curse. She picked herself up as the movement steadied into the normal hyperspace flight, gripping the transfusion bag in her teeth so she could apply another layer of bandages, struggling with his prone body. He was very fit; lithe and tone for a man of his age, his skin a smooth tan. If it weren't for the circumstances she might have found time to note him as handsome.

Beviin came up behind her, squeezing into the cramped quarters and giving her medical skills a methodical check, appearing satisfied. "That's the best we can do…keep the blood flowing." He settled down on the floor beside her, watching as took Fett's hand again, stroking his fingers and squeezing his palm in comfort.

"So, what now?" She didn't look at him; her attention fixed on the injured bounty hunter.

"We pray that Slave 1 makes this trip in as short a time frame as possible. We pray that our friend here doesn't bleed out like Dinua's mother did. And we pray that Medrit can get that nerf vet to the farm in time for us landing." He saw her look of horror. "She's better than any doctor on Mandalore, trust me."

* * *

_Thanks for taking the time to read. _

_~ Atin_


End file.
